


You Got Caught in the Clouds

by stardropdream



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Feelings Realization, Future Fic, Getting Together, M/M, Oblivious Keith (Voltron), Pining Shiro (Voltron), Post-Canon, Season 8 Doesn't Exist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-07 08:44:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17362763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: Keith realizes he’s in love with Shiro about twenty years past when he should have realistically gotten a clue.It’s something quiet. Keith’s realization washes over him as a steadily rising, incoming tide rather than a crushing, crashing wave.





	You Got Caught in the Clouds

**Author's Note:**

  * For [songdances](https://archiveofourown.org/users/songdances/gifts).



> Birthday fic for the most lovely [Ana](https://twitter.com/shiningwills). ♥ Happy birthday, bb, hope it's a good day. Have some old marrieds.

Keith realizes he’s in love with Shiro about twenty years past when he should have realistically gotten a clue. 

He can’t even say it’s because of any dramatic reason. He and Shiro have already faced down hell, have already fought impossible battles and nearly died because of it. Hell, Shiro _did_ die and Keith still managed to drag him back. 

This realization— it’s nothing like that, and it’s why it’s all the more baffling that it isn’t a near-death experience or a life-changing event that sends his heart into the blistering reality of his love. 

No. It’s something quiet. Keith’s realization washes over him as a steadily rising, incoming tide rather than a crushing, crashing wave. 

They’re out on one of their humanitarian missions on behalf of the coalition. It’s not an exciting humanitarian mission, more diplomacy than action— and it always baffles Keith that he’s selected for diplomacy missions (doesn’t quite long for the days when they’d break up fights instead, but it’s a near thing); Shiro claims Keith’s indispensable and good at diplomacy, but he thinks Shiro is just being kind. Shiro has always only ever been kind to him. That, or he’s trying to rope Keith in so he doesn’t have to do the boring missions on his own— also a very real possibility. 

Today, though, it isn’t even about diplomacy. It’s about ship maintenance. That happens sometimes, too— checking up on old ship yards and making sure far-flung planets are getting the service and maintenance they need. 

Or, in this case, the old ship they’ve been using for the past ten or so years. It’s a Starbird-class and small, good for smaller missions and two pilots. It’s served them well and has good navigation for getting around asteroids and other space junk, and Shiro likes its design, calibrated specifically for quasar energy harvesting at its stern. 

Keith and Shiro are out on the hull, using Pidge’s newly designed magnetic boots to keep them anchored to the ship’s exterior. Shiro’s bent over what amounts to a fancy hoe, scraping away at Gyrntoms— basically the Xirtix galaxy’s equivalent of space barnacles. He’s chipping away at each one with such delicate and deliberate care, which marks all things Shiro does— with great dedication and with great gentleness. 

“I _told_ you that we should have gone through the Zenith Cluster, not the Nebula,” Keith says, not for the first time, and Shiro’s sigh rattles in his ear through their communicator. It’s a long-standing argument, and there’s no heat to it. “I’m just saying,” Keith mutters as he chips chips chips away, “It would have been faster.”

“Remember when we did the ‘faster’ route and lost two vargas to the snowflake amoebas?” Shiro asks, rhetorically, because he _always_ brings up the snowflake amoebas whenever he’s trying to make a point about Keith’s navigational quirks. 

“That was one time!” Keith protests. 

“You’re either the navigator or the pilot, Keith,” Shiro returns, and Keith can hear Shiro’s smile and can’t even fight the way it warms him from the inside out. “You don’t get to be both whenever it suits you.”

Keith snorts and keeps chipping. “Whatever, Old Timer.” 

Shiro chuckles again, something light and freeing. Keith remembers Shiro’s fortieth birthday when Keith wasn’t sure if it was still cute to call him Old Timer, since forty is different from twenty-two, but it’s still a remarkable thing to Keith— they’re here. They’re together. They’re alive. Shiro has crows feet and nothing makes Keith happier than that. 

Keith’s long since thought of Shiro as a star and Keith his hapless, orbiting planet. Shiro’s laughter is everything. The fact that Shiro is still here to laugh, hasn’t exploded in a supernova, is enough for Keith entirely. He’s never actually examined the feeling, only accepted it for what it was— Shiro gave him everything, always gives him everything, and the least he can do is follow him, fall into his orbit. Perhaps less like a planet and more like a comet, always coming back home again eventually. 

Keith’s less successful with Gyrntom removal, but he’s keeping Shiro company, which mostly consists of Keith just staring out into space, somewhat literally. It’s alright. After twenty or so years of friendship with Shiro, their silences tend to stretch, comfortable in a way Keith’s never quite been with general silence. It always felt foreign, but never with Shiro. But that’s just how it is with Shiro— things that might otherwise unsettle him, upset him, frustrate him— it all disappears with Shiro. Shiro makes it easy. 

Now Keith’s pushing forty and Shiro’s well into it, but still going strong, traipsing out into the distant galaxies all for the sake of universal peace. And ship maintenance. Mostly, if Keith thinks about it for too long, his heart starts to feel all twisted up and heavy thinking about Shiro alive and happy and out amongst the stars. How it was always meant to be. 

Once, when Shiro was thirty-eight, staring up at the unknown stars on an old planet they were visiting, helping to negotiate a peace treaty with a neighboring moon, Shiro turned to Keith and said, _I could do this forever, you know._

And Keith had said, simply, _You will. And I’ll be there with you._

Keith smiles to himself and sends another Gryntom spinning off the hull with a chip chip chip of his remover. At least this ship is significantly smaller than the Atlas. Keith doesn’t want to imagine the headache it’d be to have to clean up space snails because of bad directions off of something that is, literally, the size of a town. 

“Hey Keith,” Shiro calls out, pausing in the Gryntom scrapping to pin Keith with a grin. His face has more lines than it used to, but it only makes him more handsome, his hair brushing over his eyes as he works. “Check it out.” 

Shiro starts waving his Gyrntom remover around, twirling it around his hand like he’s some kung-fu fighter or at least a very bored farmer. There’s no joke to it, just Shiro being stupid. It’s not even that funny, even though Shiro’s laughter rings in Keith’s ears. 

Keith shouldn’t find it funny at all, but he laughs, and watches his best friend of decades act like a complete fool. He twirls the remover and flicks it around like he’s fighting an invisible battle. Flecks of Gryntom shell float around them in the zero gravity and Shiro’s magnetic boots are the only thing keeping him from executing a high kick or something equally as absurd, Keith knows it deep down to his very core. 

But all Keith can think, watching him, is that he looks happy. It flickers to life inside his chest and blooms outward, as it always does when he has the thought— Shiro is happy.

And more than that, Keith hopes he’s always here to realize it, to see it. He hopes he can be part of that happiness, too. 

Maybe that’s why Keith laughs and says, without thinking, “Wow. I love you.” 

And he does. As soon as he says it, he knows it’s true. It isn’t something he says often— can count the number of times Keith’s said it rather than demonstrated it through actions— but as soon as the words leave his mouth, it feels right. He’s said it before, but this is different. 

He's always known he loves Shiro— a friend and a brother. But as he says it, now, that qualifier feels less true, less accurate. As he says it, Keith frowns and knows it isn’t quite what he meant. 

He looks at Shiro and sees the stars, the sun and the moon, sees all things and everything else that has ever mattered to them. 

Shiro grins and even from the distance between them on the hull, Keith can tell he’s blushing. “Hey. I love you, too, bud.” 

He offers it easily, kindly, sweetly— the way Shiro offers all things to Keith, without hesitation and without question. Keith’s never doubted that about Shiro and never will. 

But it occurs to him, watching Shiro grin at him, still idly twirling the tool around in his hand, that Shiro doesn’t quite understand, that he hasn’t said it right. 

He’s never been one for half-measures. There isn’t a hesitation he feels when the realization clicks into place for him. Later, days from now, he’ll marvel that he could have gone so long without realizing the truth of the matter, but it won’t feel so dire, so hopeless. Shiro has always been there, after all— Shiro has always understood. 

“No,” Keith clarifies. “I mean, I’m in love with you.”

Shiro stops twirling the Gryntom remover and blinks at him in surprise. The nebula splays out behind him and he looks so much like all those promotional banners and posters the Garrison put together, way back when the war was first won and Shiro was younger and a newly minted Captain, a recruiting-testimony and actual-hero to all other would-be cadets. To Keith, though, he’s only ever been Shiro— no poster boy, no golden boy, no champion, no perfect solider. He’s only Shiro. 

Concern pinches Shiro’s brow. “You are?” 

“Yeah,” Keith says, and it’s easy enough to say. He thinks back to all those years of chasing Shiro, of protecting Shiro, of just wanting to stay by Shiro’s side. Yes, he loves him. Strange that he’s only realized that now. 

He watches Shiro puzzle over this and then something smooth out over his face. He kneels down and undoes the mechanism that magnetizes his boots. Instead of floating away, he uses the projection pack on his suit to slice through the space between them, to bridge that gap. Keith lets Shiro fall into his orbit, reaches out to catch him by his hand as Shiro reinitiates the magnetization. 

Shiro straightens and meets his eyes. They’re closer in height than they were when they were younger, but they’ve both long since stopped growing. Up close, Keith can make out the lines on his face, can see the whisper of his own reflection on Shiro’s visor, an older face than he ever thought he’d see on himself— overlapping Shiro’s, eyes meeting eyes. 

“How long?” Shiro asks, looks worried, because of course he does, because of course Shiro is kind and sweet and decent. 

Keith laughs and shakes his head. “I don’t know. A while?” 

“You should have said something.” 

His tone is earnest and Keith nearly snorts. He’s not about to say that his realization is literally minutes old, but, there’s something anchoring about that knowledge— it’s always been here, he knows, but it buoys him now. He lifts his hands, planting them both on Shiro’s shoulders, holding him in place and smiling up at him. 

Shiro looks concerned, though, unable or unwilling to smile back. 

“It’s okay,” Keith tells him, because it is. He laughs. “Shiro, wow. I love you.” 

Finally, something like a smile twitches the corner of Shiro’s mouth. “You sound surprised.” 

Keith looks at him. Realizes, for the first time, that the blooming of warmth in his chest is love, not just affection. He knows this feeling. This feeling is familiar. That when he looks at Shiro, he sees something kind and strong, as he always does, but also someone loved. Someone precious. 

It’s strange, to know and feel everything he’s always known and felt, but in this next context. Better late than never, he figures.

“I guess I am,” Keith decides after a moment of considering. He laughs again, ducking his head. He sees Shiro shift in front of him and when Keith glances up at him through his lashes, Shiro’s face is red behind his helmet’s visor. He’s still hinting a smile, though, something small and delicate. 

“Well, honestly, how can you not feel that way, right?” Shiro says, laughing a quiet, self-deprecating little chuckle. He’s sarcastic. “Who wouldn’t want a piece of me?” 

He waves the remover around as if to emphasize that point, but it only makes that affection swell in Keith’s throat again. He hates, suddenly, that they’re on the hull of their ship and Keith can’t press Shiro’s helmet back and kiss him quiet, drag out any insecurity and self-conscious cruelty Shiro thinks about himself and replace it only with his mouth, his breath, his devotion. 

Instead, he settles for shrugging. It’s too casual, doesn’t nearly underscore the depth of what he’s feeling in this moment. Shiro doesn’t look uncomfortable and he doesn’t look like he’s about to reject Keith— somehow, such a concern never occurs to him— but he looks uncertain, disbelieving. 

Keith reaches out and steadies the remover, curls one hand around the metal, the other settling over Shiro’s hand, holding him stable. It’s quiet, for a moment. They’re in a vacuum and all Keith can hear is the sound of his breathing, Shiro’s own in his ear as if his mouth were pressed up there. 

“Is it a problem?” Keith asks him. 

Shiro’s quick to shake his head. “Haven’t I been telling you for years that whoever eventually catches your eye will be a lucky man?” 

He smiles, quieter and less self-deprecating, something sincere and hopeful. 

“Ha, yeah,” Keith laughs.

He looks at their hands, studies the way he traces his fingertips over Shiro’s hand. There’re too many layers of their protective suits. He wants to feel skin on skin. Maybe he should have had his epiphany inside the ship. 

“So… Surprise. Turns out you were talking about yourself the whole time.” 

“Guess I was,” Shiro says faintly, his voice wavering for a moment. Keith watches him swallow, watches his eyes flicker across Keith’s face, studying him, something fragile and vulnerable there in his eyes. 

He looks away a moment later, eyes sweeping across their cosmic sky, the nebula in the distance, floating space debris. Keith’s always found that fascinating about space— how at first glance everything feels expansive and empty, but is, most of the time, aggressively full of random things. Keith watches Shiro, watches the way Shiro studies the nebulous gas in the distance, the stars even further on.

When Shiro looks back at Keith, his expression is softer. “You know,” Shiro says, voice quiet, and Keith knows to listen, grips his hand tight. “The universe has let me have so much time with everyone important to me. With you.” 

“Shiro,” Keith begins but Shiro shakes his head. Keith goes quiet. 

“I never thought I’d have this much time, you know?” Shiro asks, and Keith watches his grip tighten on the remover. Beneath the gloves, Shiro is white-knuckled, Keith knows. Shiro smiles, private and faint, and Keith feels that weight of the unspoken— years ago now, the revelation of Shiro’s cure, of all the _time_. They still have time. So much time. 

Keith wants to touch him. He can’t manage anything closer with the suits, but he lifts his hand to cup Shiro’s neck, the curve of his jaw where helmet meets compression suit. Shiro’s smile lightens, turns a little simpler. 

“But I do. Have time, I mean,” Shiro says. “And I… What I’m saying is—” He pauses and bites his lip. “I’m just… grateful for all these years I’ve gotten to have with you.” 

Keith must make a noise, although it’s not something he does voluntarily. Shiro’s expression splinters for a moment, uncertain. After a moment, though, it turns into something more serene. He smiles at Keith and his eyes soften. Keith’s used to that— Shiro looking at him so gently, but now it looks different. Maybe it’s the context. Maybe it’s that Shiro’s eyes really are that much softer now, somehow. 

“I’ve loved you for a long time, Keith,” Shiro tells him.

Keith’s eyes widen and he can do nothing but stare for a moment. He keeps waiting for some sort of clarification, some sort of qualifier. I love you like a brother. I’ve loved you like a friend. But it never comes. Shiro just looks at him, waiting. 

Keith’s throat seizes up and he asks, “What?” 

Shiro shrugs, although like with Keith, it hardly seems like the right gesture. Something pinches in his eyes and he clears his throat. “I realized not too long ago. I just— you know.”

“ _You_ should have said something!” Keith protests.

Shiro laughs. “I guess I could have. But… I was just— glad. For what I had. You’ve always been by my side, Keith. You’ll never know what that’s meant to me, all these years.” Shiro laughs again, a quieter sound. “Not just saving me all the times you have. Just… being here. With me. How could I be anything other than grateful for that?” 

Keith stares at him, utterly silent, bowled over. 

Shiro’s laugh is a quiet, self-conscious thing, taking Keith’s silence and filling it. “You know me. I’ve messed up so many things in my life. But I never… I guess I never quite managed to mess up with you, huh?” He hesitates. “Or maybe I have?” 

Keith waits to speak, quiet for a moment as Shiro falls quiet, too. Then Keith takes the remover from his hands and snaps its magnetic end down onto the hull so it stays in place. He’ll get it later. He kneels to deactivate their boots and together they start to float. 

“Keith—”

Keith takes Shiro’s hands and tugs, bouncing off the hull in a slow, lopping anti-gravity walk, leading Shiro back towards the ship’s airlock. Shiro doesn’t press him, doesn’t try to speak again, and just lets Keith lead him in.

Keith waits only until the airlock seals before he turns to Shiro, doesn’t bother with the decontamination steps before he’s ripping Shiro’s helmet off. He tosses it aside unceremoniously as Shiro blinks at him in alarm. Keith pulls his own off and throws it before he’s reaching for Shiro, open-handed and shaking. The air around them is thin, air ripped away when they opened the airlock and still in the process of replenishing. Keith doesn’t care. 

“ _Shiro,_ ” Keith says, with feeling, since all other words fail him. Shiro’s name is the only thing that’s ever really mattered, truthfully. He’s breathless, and not just because of the lack of oxygen.

Shiro laughs again, because of course he does, but it’s a fragile thing. He ducks his head down obediently when Keith tugs and he opens his mouth, about to say something, but is quickly silenced by Keith’s mouth slanting to his.

It’s not an earth-shattering kiss by any means. Shiro’s kissed plenty of people before, Keith knows, and he’s kissed enough people himself, too. It doesn’t steal their breath or send them sobbing, but there’s an ease to it, a satisfaction that Keith can’t quite describe. It feels normal, natural— like all this time, he’s just been waiting for the chance to do this. 

Keith slides his mouth against Shiro’s and lets out a soft sigh, pulling him in closer, his hands gentling against Shiro’s cheeks. He feels Shiro shift, feels his hands ghost at his hips and lean into his space, breathing him in. They kiss and the world keeps moving. There’s no radical shift, no fumbling like he might have done when he was younger. But it’s Shiro and it’s as easy as everything else important in his life— like breathing, like coming home.

When he pulls back, Shiro’s eyes stay shut for a half-second too long. When he blinks them open, Keith studies the way they flicker over Keith’s face in turn, the soft grey of his eyes, the crinkled corners, the splay of his eyelashes. He really is, Keith realizes, the most beautiful person in the universe. He wonders at how he’s ever failed to notice that until now. 

“Was that okay?” Keith asks. 

Shiro smiles, and he closes his eyes again as he lets out a barking, surprised laugh. “Yeah, Keith,” he says around a chuckle. “Really okay.” 

His arm sneaks around Keith’s waist and pulls him in and Keith sighs out when Shiro bridges the distance between them, kissing him with that same quiet intensity he tackles all things, soothing and calm but weighted. Keith splays his hands out across his shoulders and holds on, never intending to let go.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject) (including the [LLF Comment Builder](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/commentbuilder)), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates responses, including:
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